


commemoration

by lisettedelapin



Category: Free!
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Selfies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4543557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisettedelapin/pseuds/lisettedelapin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We,” Rin starts, moving one hand from Makoto to dig into the pocket of his jacket. “Are going to take a selfie.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	commemoration

“Rin…”

Makoto is backing away, tone cautious, if only because he’s already halfway to agreeing to whatever it is Rin has not asked him for yet. There’s not much anyone can do when Rin is sauntering towards them like this, with the grace that seems to most often come to him when he is not commanding it. He’s baring his teeth in an unpolished smile. Makoto recognises it as the one he often greets victory with; the one that stems from high stakes and greater wins. It’s dangerous, Makoto thinks, in the same way that it would be to catch sight of the jagged glint of raw diamond in a coal mine.

He swallows thickly; somehow feels twelve years old and too tall for his weight on the ground. Rin steps closer, toes edging off the starting block as he lifts his hands and reaches forward.

And there’s a split second of suspension, of flight, when Makoto feels Rin take hold of his wrists.

“I have an idea,” Rin says.

 _What is it, dear?_ Makoto tastes the words, so close to his father's voice, bites his tongue against it but can’t help the surprised laugh spill at being caught off guard by such a phrase.

“You’re laughing,” Rin says, bravado faltering as his lopsided grin evens into something softer.

It’s the difference between Makoto’s heart freezing at the flick of a match, a caught flame; and the sensation of reaching for the leaking glow of the sun melting into the horizon. He’s awestruck either way but this, this is a warmth he can catch somehow.

He doesn’t realise he’s smiling until he opens his mouth to speak and his voice is lighter than he expects. “You have a lot of ideas, Rin.”

Rin nods once, his eyes slipping closed and then slowly open, bright with the type of mirth Makoto recognises in Nagisa. His hands skate deliberately up Makoto’s forearms to leave tingles in their wake – a measure of the pulse Rin breathes into everything he does.

“We,” Rin starts, moving one hand from Makoto to dig into the pocket of his jacket. “Are going to take a selfie.”

“Oh?” Makoto arches a brow, does not shift when Rin leans towards him.

“Because y'know…I won.”

He’s already drawn his phone from his jacket when he presses his mouth to the highest point of Makoto’s jaw.

Makoto feels his breath stutter at the butterfly touch of Rin’s hair against his chin. And he’s always been deft at separating the haze of a dream from reality but Rin has a way of flitting beyond gravity, of dissolving the weight of the ground; Makoto cannot help the trembling of his fingers when he presses his hand to Rin’s chest and feels the coolness of a gold medal.

He hears Rin swallow.

“I won on a lot of counts.”

He feels the smile lift his mouth with all the ease of the Iwatobi breeze.

“And moments of victory” – Rin pulls back, lifts his chin, almost presses his own grin to Makoto’s – “call for commemoration.”

“With selfies?” Makoto says, mock enlightened, and with the giddiness he’s learned to be a symptom of spending prolonged amounts of time with one Matsuoka Rin.

“Of course.”

But Rin doesn’t move. Makoto realises, with the precision of the camera flashes that follow Rin, that he is waiting for permission.

To share this with Makoto.

“I’d like that.”

He can’t help but feel oddly nervous when Rin moves to stand beside him, crowding close as he angles his phone so that the medal can be seen. Makoto tries to watch the screen without really looking at himself, the familiar nerves of taking individual school photos twisting his stomach.

“Relax,” Rin whispers, hooking an arm around his shoulder. And sure enough, he feels the jitters calming, his smile coming a little more natural.

“How many do you need to take?”

Rin flicks him. “Just one more. We look hot, okay.”

Makoto feels his cheeks burn at that, and instantly he hears Rin’s laugh, sees him covering his mouth in the view on the phone screen.

The sight alone makes Makoto grin in turn. And it’s with minimal thought that he tugs Rin closer, relaxing instantly. This time, Rin holds the edge of the medal between his teeth, his eyes brightening and Makoto remembers the gold of an old trophy, stars scattered across water. Then steel door handles – pulled while light overflowed from the sound of laughter. The glimmer of fishing lines, strands of hair shining bronze at sunset.

And now Rin stands, broad shouldered, his presence lighting up open spaces like a solar flare.

But his hand on Makoto is cool, reassuring. And it’s with the sort of tenderness that makes Makoto feel oddly helpless that he ducks down, just as Rin presses the button on his phone screen, to brush his lips against the side of Rin’s head.

“O-oh.” Rin says, his ears bright red as Makoto tries to calm the rush of his heartbeat.

“Shit…um…we’re cute.”

Feeling equal parts foolish and accomplished, Makoto leans over to look at Rin’s phone. It’s a good photo, the butterflies in his stomach decide instantly. There’s pink at the height of Makoto’s cheekbone but it has nothing on the blush spread across Rin’s face. The thing is, and Makoto breathes and feels his heart clench all at once at the thought, is that Rin appears every bit as young as he really is in this photo. Gold medal and all, he looks so undeniably normal that Makoto can only be reminded of the way Rin has taught him to find grandeur hiding in the thread of a split second, in the countless moments unravelling within the course of any given day.

Makoto nods. Feels the need to guard the warmth of those thoughts. He hums softly in assent.

“We really are, huh?”

“I wish I could Instagram it,” Rin says, brows furrowed.

And quietly, Makoto thinks that maybe sometime soon, that could be okay.

~

He’s scrolling through Rin’s account when he realises that it doesn’t matter. Makoto is in almost every photo, whether it be by his hair caught at the edge of a frame, he and Haru blurred in the background, his old flannel button up draped over the back of a chair in Australia, candid shots of Rin smiling caught from another person's phone.

“Rin!” Makoto calls, and he’s grinning when Rin comes rushing from the kitchen, wooden spoon still in hand.

Makoto’s voice rings soft but clear. “How about we take a selfie?”

Rin’s smirk spreads, slowly, and then dissolves into hushed laughter when he strides over to Makoto to snatch the phone from his hand.

“Got something to commemorate?”

Makoto tangles their fingers when Rin matches his smile.

“Hopefully,” he says. And he finds that the word comes with a surety he's learning to count on.


End file.
